Weigh heigh and up she rises (/Hoo-ray and up she rises)
Weigh heigh and up she rises (/Patent blocks of different sizes)[2]
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Early in the morning

What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Early in the morning?
Put/chuck him in the long boat till he's sober.[7]
Put him in the long-boat and make him bale her.[8]
What shall we do with a drunken soldier?[2]
Put/lock him in the guard room 'til he gets sober.[7][2]
Put him in the scuppers with a hose-pipe on him.(x3)[12]
Pull out the plug and wet him all over[12]
Tie him to the taffrail when she's yardarm under[12]
Heave him by the leg in a runnin' bowline.[12]
Scrape the hair off his chest with a hoop-iron razor.[2]
Give 'im a dose of salt and water.[2]
Stick on his back a mustard plaster.[2]
Keep him there and make 'im bale 'er.[2]
Give 'im a taste of the bosun's rope-end.[2]
What'll we do with a Limejuice skipper?[2]
Soak him in oil till he sprouts a flipper.[2]
What shall we do with the Queen o' Sheba?[2]
What shall we do with the Virgin Mary?[2]

Shave his chin with a rusty razor.[20]
Shave his belly with a rusty razor.[21]
Give 'im a hair of the dog that bit him.[22]
Put him in the bilge and make him drink it.[23]
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter.[24]

The captain touched his swagger stick
Up to his golden eye
And boogied through the vestibule
While bidding us goodbye
The enemy surrounds us
And our spirits almost gone
The Devil take the cavalry
That sold us for a song

There's Chi-Chi's on the starboard, lads
And Chi-Chi's in the stern
And hashish in the hookah pipes
And bonny grass to burn
Our mission is a secret
But we're fool enough to try
We'll sail the bloody ocean, boys
Or drink the bastard dry

"If I'd've been a carpenter," the swarthy
sergeant said
"I'd never seen this ugly thing
That hangs above my head
The hell with all your heros
And the wounds they hope to show
I'm just a simple soldier, son
With one more year to go"

The Albatross was tiring
And the cook was in a stew
The filthy little cabin boy
Was whizzing in my shoe
The Captain's wife was aging
And the first mate heard her scream
When Tommy slipped tabasco in the
Captain's vaseline

"Our time will soon be gone," he said
"It's all we've left to lose
We've shot our ammunition
And we're all but out of booze
So here's to Irma Donegal
Here's to Nellie Blye
And here's to my old friend," he said
And kissed his ass goodbye

"Give off! give off! You sorry lot.
Give off!," the Captain cried
"we've lost our bloody anchor
And we're driftin' with the tide
The swollen surf is pounding
Like a thousand cannons roar
And I shake the hand of any man
Who guides us into shore."

"We're saved! We're saved!"
The soldiers said
"We're saved!," the sailors cried
And soldiers climbed aboard
While sailors left from either side
Some swabbies hit the minefield and
The rifles got the rest
And somewhere there's a schooner
Sinkin' slowly in the west

When I get into that mode, I'll usually hum classical tunes to calm myself down. Usually Mozart or Handel, but one of the most effective for me is Strauss' Blue Danube. Hey, whatever prevents a meltdown!

That's a good one. I like it. So from now now it will be that on easy cruiser terrain than High Speed Dirt when faced with the hard move. High Speed Dirt is actually about skydiving but I just dig that song when I'm way out there.

On the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the port quay of Cork.
We were sailing away with a Cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall of New York.
We'd a near-leaking craft, it was rigged fore and aft.
And how the trade winds drove her.
She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts,
And they called her the Irish Rover.

There was Bobby McGee from the banks of the Leith.
There was Hogan from county Tyrone.
There was John D. McGirk, who was scared stiff of work,
And a chap from Westmeath named Malone.
There was Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rule,
And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover,
And a man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover.

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million barrels of pone.
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails,
We had four million barrels of bone.
We had five million hogs,
And six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million sides of poor blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

We had sailed seven years when the mizzens broke out
And the ship lost her way in the fog.
And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two.
Twas meself and the captain's old dog.
Well, the ship struck a rock, and Lord what a shock!
I nearly tumbled over.
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover